It's easy to feel a bit lost, or like you're stuck in a place you didn't necessarily want to end up. Sooner or later it will be time to act: We can't spend all our time In Transition. In this issue of 50 to 1, enjoy new work from Ethan Swage, Nathan Schaad, Mike Entile, C.A. Cole, Mandy Brown, Robert Thomas and Duncan Whitmire.

Paul thinks Punxsutawney Phil better get his act together. It's been a good winter so far, Phil, don't ruin it.

The kids titter anxiously behind you as you swing open the door. The delivery boy gasps, stutters, blushes. Inside, you gather your clothes, collect high fives, then scamper off to the bathroom. You peek out the window—pizza boy’s still there—and kiss the breath-fogged glass. Mom is still cool.

Ethan Swage is a New Jersey–based writer, artist, and photographer whose work has appeared in publications including Eclectic Flash, Blink/Ink, and Staccato Fiction. He has thrown away his watch.

When Naomi took the stand, she knew her prosecutor had no case. Still, he approached.

“You admitted, Miss Naomi, that you killed your son while he slept in his crib.”

“Yes.”

“Yet you still insist you are innocent of murder in the first degree?”

“It was a postpartum abortion, dumbass.”

Nathan Schaad is a creative writing graduate at Miami University. After graduation, Nathan took a sharp swerve into the interaction of law and people as a writing interest, which currently fuels much of his work. This is his first publication in a professional literary magazine.

Sammy Rotolo scanned the room of the shabby social club as he grabbed a piece of provolone from the antipasto platter and wondered if he was the only rat in the place.

Mike Entile has been writing historical fiction since his short story based on Custer's Last Stand won an award at his junior high's arts and science fair over forty years ago. Unfortunately, it's the last thing he's ever won.

I’m writing a love flash, a poem without line breaks, hummed to the B-52’s, love flash, love flash, short, like the time we spent together. If you’d stayed, it’d be a short story, maybe a novel, but since you weren’t capable of sustained attention, a flash is all you get.

C.A. Cole seems to pare her writing down and down and down, and then it gets published. The above was once a novel.

"No one ever plans this kind of thing, right?" he asked, eyes wary, biting his lip as he signed his new name.

Mandy Brown enjoys biting off more of the world than others think she can chew. When she isn't changing the world, she's changing diapers because she's convinced the two are related. She is currently studying for her BA in English at Texas State University.

She has kind of motherly hair; gray curls peppered against black locks. Each crease in her face is a story about sleepless nights with crying babies, doctor visits and missing child support checks. When she asks if I want a dance, I say, no, but I’ll pay for one anyway.

Robert Thomas is a writer living in Seattle, Washington. He hopes to change the number of pieces he has published from "0" to "a bunch". He's currently working on a novel that will, most likely, be rejected many times.

We proclaimed our love with the frequency of certain birds during long migrations, checking in every few seconds because the world is big and the sky bigger. One day I said I love you and heard silence in return. Now I sense I’m headed north toward a cold dark winter.

Duncan Whitmire lives and writes in southern New Hampshire, where he works at a school for children with disabilities. Fiction of his has appeared in such journals as Flashquake, Dispatch Lita-Review, 34th Parallel and 322 Review. Please visit his website at www.duncanwhitmire.com.